


we keep our spirits light

by coloredink



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sexual Dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:19:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's palms started to sweat.  He shifted in his seat.  He wasn't hard, but he could feel that warm curl of pleasure, like maybe he was about to be.  He hadn't felt that in a long time, either.</p><p>"Would you like to tell me when I can come?" Hannibal asked.</p><p>Will's mouth went dry.  "Yes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	we keep our spirits light

It shouldn't have surprised Will, when he walked into the bathroom to see Hannibal with one hand braced up against the shower wall and the other between his legs. The glass was fogged over with steam, but there was no mistaking that posture, the regular, steady motion of his arm.

Hannibal was a man like any other man; Will knew that by now. He'd seen Hannibal bleed, Hannibal asleep, Hannibal do foolish things for love. Why shouldn't Hannibal do this as well? But Hannibal was so monstrous and superhuman in other ways: his sadism, his taste in fine arts and fine foods, his meticulous combination of the two. Will could never predict with any certainty in which ways Hannibal would be human.

Will should have left. Just found the nail scissors, walked out, closed the door behind him, and never brought this up again. But Hannibal looked at him through the glass, his expression half-obscured by water vapor, and--

"Stop," Will said. "Stop touching yourself."

Hannibal's hand fell to his side. The water continued to pour down, suddenly loud and echoing against the tiles. Hannibal did not turn his head away. Will swallowed, and swallowed again. He couldn't slow his heartbeat.

"I'll be in the kitchen," Will said. "Come find me when you're done. With your shower," he added, in case that needed clarification. It was best to be as precise as possible, with Hannibal.

Hannibal cleared his throat. "All right." His voice was just very slightly rough. He turned his head back toward the spray. Will left the bathroom. He paused outside the door, realizing that he'd forgotten the nail scissors, but didn't go back in. His thoughts chased each other in circles.

Will would have liked to stay. He hadn't gotten a very good look at Hannibal's cock. How hard had he been? How close to finishing? Had it been hard to stop?

\-----

Hannibal came to the kitchen with still-damp hair, dressed in a long-sleeved henley and khaki trousers. Will liked that look on him, and Hannibal knew it.

Will had dinner--stew--simmering on the stove. He'd poured a glass of wine for each of them, and he passed Hannibal his glass across the counter. They took their drinks to the dining room table.

"How often do you do that?" Will asked.

Hannibal lifted his eyebrows. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Masturbate," Will bit out. "How often do you masturbate?"

Hannibal gave the impression of a shrug without actually moving his shoulders. "Perhaps once or twice a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. I'm fifty years old; the libido isn't what it used to be."

Will rubbed his thumb up and down the stem of his wine glass, realized what he was doing, and stopped. "It feels good?"

"Of course it feels good." Hannibal paused. "You haven't."

"No." Not since--not since. First he'd been injured, then recovering, then they'd been running, and now--maybe some of what Will was feeling was resentment, that here was something else Hannibal got to have that Will didn't.

Hannibal was watching Will carefully. "You told me to stop, earlier. Why?"

Will looked up at Hannibal. For a moment it was like they were back in Baltimore, sitting in armchairs facing each other, the air between them thick with things Will didn't know the names to yet. "I don't know," he said.

"Did it offend you?"

"No." Will let go of his glass before he could start fidgeting with it again.

"I did as you said," said Hannibal. He tilted his head and watched Will swallow. "That arouses you."

Will's palms started to sweat. He shifted in his seat. He wasn't hard, but he could feel that warm curl of pleasure, like maybe he was about to be. He hadn't felt that in a long time, either.

"Would you like to tell me when I can come?" Hannibal asked.

Will's mouth went dry. "Yes."

\-----

Hannibal was naked again.

Will had seen him naked often, of course, and vice versa, especially in the early days. Hannibal had never had that kind of self-consciousness, and Will had lost his soon after, at least where Hannibal was concerned. He'd wondered, at the time, what more Hannibal would cause him to lose; if Hannibal would ever stop carving pieces of him away that Will had once considered inviolable.

But this was a new way of seeing Hannibal naked. This wasn't sharing a bathroom or changing clothes in close quarters. This was Hannibal naked and kneeling on the bed, Will in his t-shirt and boxers, in a chair drawn up to the foot. This was Hannibal touching himself and letting Will watch. He was going slowly, because Will had told him to.

"What were you thinking about?" Will asked. "In the shower."

"You," Hannibal replied promptly, without an ounce of embarrassment.

Will decided not to ask more about that. He didn't want to know under what circumstances Hannibal imagined him when he was beating off. "And what are you thinking about now?"

Hannibal smiled, his eyes bright as his hand moved in steady, methodical motions over his cock. He was so hard. "You," he breathed.

"I'm right here," Will said.

"Yes," Hannibal said. "You are." His breathing grew faster, and the motions of his hand sped up. Will could see precome glistening on the head of Hannibal's cock and partway down the shaft.

"Stop," Will said.

Hannibal's breath caught on an inhale. He let it out through his nose as his hand dropped back to his side. His cock stood away from his body in an angry red curve.

"Was that," Will stopped himself before he used the word 'hard', "difficult?"

"Yes," Hannibal said in a dreamy voice. He was still smiling. His chest rose and fell.

"Do you want to come?"

"Yes."

Will stood up from the chair. "Well, too bad," he said, all in a rush, his heart hammering like he was in danger. "You don't get to come tonight."

Hannibal gave a long sigh as Will went around the side and tugged the covers down, climbed into the bed. He pulled Hannibal down beside him. 

It wasn't unusual for Hannibal to sleep naked while Will slept in a t-shirt and boxers. But Hannibal wasn't usually hard and aching, trying to find a comfortable position while waiting for his erection to calm down. Will turned his back to Hannibal and pressed a hand between his own legs. He wasn't hard, but maybe he would be.

"Will," Hannibal said behind him, nearly in his ear.

Will snatched his hand away. "Goodnight," he said.

Hannibal paused, before finally saying, "Goodnight."

\-----

Will woke up with dried come stuck to the insides of his boxers and the tops of his thighs, and the sound of water running in the bathroom. He wiped one hand over his face and wondered what he'd dreamed about. He was happy not to remember. That, at least, had been a constant throughout his life: happier not knowing what his dreams had been about.

He got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, shucking his boxers and t-shirt on the way. The sight that greeted him was much the same as it had been the other day: steam coating the glass, Hannibal naked and wet. This time, Hannibal wasn't trying to jack off. Will opened the shower door and stepped in with him.

The shower was more than large enough for two. In fact, there was more than one showerhead: one fixed to the wall that Hannibal was standing under, and a removable showerhead with a flexible hose on the other, where a bench jutted out of the wall. Will had always vaguely wondered about that, but now he sat on the bench and picked up the second showerhead.

Hannibal watched him with perfect equanimity. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," Will replied as he doused himself.

Hannibal picked up the bottle of shampoo. "Shall I?"

Will blinked. "Are you offering to wash my hair?"

"Yes."

"Sure," Will said, after a brief pause.

Will had to bow his head so that Hannibal could reach the back. It placed him uncomfortably close to Hannibal's cock, soft and quiescent in its nest of neatly trimmed pubes. Will closed his eyes. Hannibal's hands felt good in his hair, massaging his scalp. He'd always liked Hannibal's hands. Still did.

"You had a night emission," Hannibal said. Will snorted at Hannibal's use of the clinical term, but Hannibal only continued, "I could smell it, this morning."

"Yeah?" Will said. "It turn you on? Did you come in here to beat off?"

"No," Hannibal said. "You hadn't given me permission. But it eases my mind. The problem then is likely not physiological, but psychological."

"Psychological. Right." Will kept his eyes closed as Hannibal rinsed the soap from his hair. "I'm on the run with a serial killer who's ruined my life multiple times. I have no idea how or why that might give me _psychological problems_." He wiped wet hair out of his eyes and glared up at Hannibal.

Hannibal looked...sad.

Will's breath stuck in his chest.

"Don't," he hissed, and lurched to his feet. He shambled, dripping, out of the shower and threw his towel over his head, rumpling fiercely. "I'm going out for a walk before breakfast," he snapped through the terrycloth. "Don't wait for me."

\-----

Will returned from his walk to a kitchen that still smelled faintly of baking. A plate of biscuits sat cooling on the counter. Will bit into one over the sink. It was flaky and tender and left grease on his finger tips. He sucked the salt and butter off his fingers and went to the fridge, got out the breakfast sausage and the milk. He ate biscuits and gravy standing just outside the back door, staring between the trees and scrunching his bare toes in the grass, feeling very nearly calm.

He found Hannibal in the sunroom, tending to his bonsai with an iron teapot by his elbow. Hannibal must have known that Will was home, but he'd left Will alone.

"We're going to bed," Will told him.

Hannibal put down his pruning shears and followed.

Hannibal started unbuttoning his shirt as soon as they got to the bedroom. Will almost stopped him, out of some impulse toward contrariness, but he really did want Hannibal naked. Even if Hannibal did take his time, hanging each article up in the closet as it was removed. It gave Will time to shuck his own clothes, which he left puddled on the floor. He didn't want this to just be a repeat of last time. If Hannibal had any thoughts or reservations about the matter, his face did not betray them.

"What happens if I never let you come?" Will asked as he joined Hannibal on the bed.

"Then I don't come," Hannibal replied. He lay on his back, slightly propped up on his elbows. Gazing up at Will. "Eventually, you might need to milk me. The buildup of fluid from repeated arousal without ejaculation is bad for the health, and you might want to prevent night emissions."

Will's breathing went shallow. _Milk_. Like Hannibal was a--a cow. His mind stuttered over the comparison. He swung one leg over Hannibal's torso so that he was all but sitting on Hannibal's chest, his dick dangling just in front of Hannibal's face. "Suck," he said, trying not to sound too breathless. Hannibal never took his eyes off Will's face as he complied.

Getting a blowjob when he was still soft felt...weird. It was nice--Hannibal's technique was impeccable--but Will wasn't sure he liked it, once the novelty of the first few minutes wore off. Hannibal's eyes had slid shut, and he looked dreamy as he mouthed Will's limp dick, spit shining on his lips and chin. Will slid a hand into Hannibal's hair, and Hannibal tilted his head into it, like some great cat.

"Stop," Will said.

Hannibal froze, and with great reluctance pulled off. He let his head fall back against the pillows. Will slid away to land beside him and discovered that Hannibal was hard. A small, shiny puddle had formed beneath the head, where it lay against Hannibal's belly. Will wanted to touch it, but he didn't want to touch it if that was what Hannibal wanted him to do.

"Do you want me to touch you?" Will asked.

"Yes," Hannibal said without hesitation.

"Do you want to touch yourself?"

"Yes."

Will sat up, one knee pulled up against his chest. Hannibal's eyes dropped to Will's dick, which was soft and damp with saliva. It was chilly and uncomfortable, after the warmth of Hannibal's mouth. "What else do you want?"

Hannibal did not reply.

"Bullshit," said Will. "Tell me. What do you get out of this?"

Hannibal gave Will a look of perfect earnestness. "Why, you, of course."

\-----

Will did touch Hannibal, later. Just with his hand. He'd never handled a dick besides his own. It felt a little bit like trying to write left-handed. Hannibal kept so perfectly still, flat on his back in the bed while Will bent over him, that it was unnerving.

"Do you want to come?" Will asked as he smoothed his thumb over the head of Hannibal's cock.

"Yes," Hannibal breathed. His eyes were closed, but his eyelids flickered.

"Will you come?"

Hannibal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Not if you tell me not to."

"Your control can't be that good." Will tried using both hands: one to hold Hannibal's cock in place, the other to rub his palm in circles over Hannibal's head. It looked like it felt good. Hannibal's muscles shifted under his skin. "You might come even if I tell you not to. And then what?"

"That would be up to you." Hannibal's breath was coming faster. That excited Will, that he had this ability. Looking back now, that had always been his power, and his alone. Hannibal had lived alone and content and free in Baltimore for years, with his mansion and his dinner parties and his art, and then Will had come along, bleeding visions and uncontrolled empathy, and Hannibal had blown it all to smithereens.

Will ran his index finger around Hannibal's corona, light and maddening. "You're saying I could punish you."

Hannibal's breath hitched. "Yes."

Will wondered if he weren't punishing Hannibal now; Hannibal was leaking pretty copiously. "I could hurt you."

"Yes."

Will tightened his grip on Hannibal's dick, hard enough that Hannibal drew a sharp breath in through his nose. "Is there anything you wouldn't let me do to you?"

Hannibal gave Will a blank look. Will's heart thudded against his chest, and he let Hannibal go as if he'd been burned.

Will remembered that look, the next time he was alone. He closed his eyes, tipped back his head, and conjured it to mind as he took his soft dick in hand. It made him sick without making him hard.

\-----

"I really want to fuck you," Will said, the next time. They were in bed together. Hannibal was naked again, on his belly between Will's legs. Will knew that Hannibal was hard, though he couldn't see, and Hannibal was too controlled to rut against the bedclothes while he suckled Will's soft cock.

Hannibal pulled off of Will with a wet, filthy sound and looked up at Will through his lashes. "I would like that." He didn't mention the part where Will would have to be hard, in order to fuck.

But there were other ways that Will could fuck Hannibal. He could use a beer bottle. A broomstick. The handle of one of the kitchen knives, as long as he was careful. Or he could be not careful. Fuck, maybe he could even use his fist. Hannibal didn't care, would maybe welcome it. Will stared down at Hannibal, the fingers of one hand tangled in Hannibal's hair, and Hannibal just stared back with bright eyes.

"On your back," Will snapped.

Hannibal complied. Will sat on Hannibal's chest and stuck two fingers in Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal sucked, laving them with his tongue, the same as he'd been doing to Will's cock just moments ago.

Will couldn't name the buzzing in his chest that climbed up into his ears. He saw himself draw his fingers out of Hannibal's mouth, a thin strand of spittle between them. The strand broke as Will's hand got farther away, and he shifted back. He might have believed, up until the very last moment, that he was going to put those fingers in Hannibal's ass. Instead, his hands stuck against Hannibal's throat.

Will still knew where to put pressure to cut off blood flow to the brain, cause unconsciousness in a matter of minutes. Hannibal knew too. But that wasn't what Will wanted. He wanted Hannibal to struggle for every little sip of air. He wanted Hannibal to know what was happening and feel it slipping away.

Hannibal's face turned red, then purple. Will could feel Hannibal's muscles rolling beneath him. Hannibal's hands came up to claw at Will's arms. He could no longer draw breath. Will observed all this as if from very far away. He wondered how he would feel about it later.

One of Hannibal's hands flashed forward, grabbed Will's balls, and squeezed.

Will howled and pitched sideways, doubled over. In a flash, Hannibal was upright and crouched on all fours, his shoulders heaving as he gulped for air. Will remained curled on his side, whimpering. By the time he regained enough self-control to roll onto his back, Hannibal had moved to sitting cross-legged. Red fingermarks showed up livid against the skin of his neck.

"Did you really intend to kill me?" Hannibal asked. He sounded maybe just a little raspy. It made Will's heart leap.

"I don't know," Will answered honestly. He scrubbed one hand over his face. "No. No, I don't think so. I think I just...wanted to see what would happen." His lips twitched, stretched wide, and a laugh spilled out, startling him. But he couldn't stop. Will laughed, long and loud and strident, until it wasn't laughter anymore.

\-----

It was messed up, Will thought, that he derived such comfort from being in Hannibal's arms, of all people. Will couldn't remember feeling like this with anyone else, though. Maybe his father, when he had been very, very small. With Molly, there had always been this undercurrent of knowledge that there were things he couldn't protect her from, if they came looking. And they had.

Hannibal was large and solid and warm, against Will's back, and Will didn't have to look at him this way. He could just relax. At least, until Hannibal's hand detached itself from Will's hip and wandered toward the center.

Will sighed. "Hannibal--"

"Shhh."

Will subsided. Hannibal had a poor track record of respecting Will's wishes, and Will did not expect that record to revise now. He shifted his legs a little, to give Hannibal better access. Hannibal cupped Will's balls in his hand and nuzzled the back of Will's neck. Will closed his eyes. It felt nice.

He almost couldn't believe it, when he started to get hard under Hannibal's careful ministrations. He wouldn't have believed it had it not been for the evidence of his eyes and the tingling of his nerves. He held his breath, afraid that it would vanish now that he'd noticed.

"Breathe, Will," Hannibal murmured in his ear, and Will let out his breath in a slow hiss.

After a few minutes, Will's hips jerked, he grunted, and everything tightened and then released. That orgasm, he thought muzzily, could be called mediocre. But it had still felt good, and left him a little winded. Hannibal's hand retreated behind Will's shoulder; Will heard wet sounds and didn't have to guess what was happening. He thought about making a smart remark, but he was too sleepy and hollowed out.

"D'you wan' me to," he mumbled.

"No." Hannibal's arms wound back around Will, and he insinuated one leg between Will's. Will could feel that Hannibal wasn't hard. "There's always tomorrow."

"'Kay," Will said. His eyes were already closed. There was, in fact, tomorrow.

\---end---

**Author's Note:**

> [coloredink.tumblr.com](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [sumiwrites.wordpress.com](https://sumiwrites.wordpress.com/) (if you wanna see the books I've written)


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